


Wrong

by wickedthoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Captain America: The First Avenger, Communication Failure, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Oral Sex, POV Steve Rogers, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: Steve doesn't understand why Bucky's afraid of his new body.





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> For a [hydratrashmeme](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=5266399#cmt5266399) prompt.
> 
> This story relies heavily on dramatic irony and a lack of communication between Steve and Bucky. It deals with the aftermath of rape, recovery attempts, and ends with a suicide attempt. It does not have a happy ending. Read with care.

* * *

His body is all wrong.  
  
Steve hates that he thinks that, but he does. He’ll catch a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye, or he’ll hit his head on something that he’d once been able to pass easily underneath, and he’ll think _all wrong_ like some ungrateful punk.  
  
It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy this new body. It’s big, strong, and fast in all the ways he used to dream about. When he came out of the machine, after his head had stopped buzzing and after he’d tried to avenge Erskine’s death, he’d felt the relief of not being in pain for the first time in his short life. He’d taken that pain for granted, often told people _“it’s not so bad,”_ but he knows now that was horseshit. He couldn’t go back. Not now that he knows what it’s like not to be in constant pain. What it’s like to breathe fully, to feel his heart beating steadily, to eat whenever and whatever he wants. What it’s like to have power. What it’s like to have people look at him like he’s something beautiful and good.  
  
He enjoys his body, but it feels wrong.  
  
He thinks what he needs is for Bucky to see his new body. To see, and to touch, and to love Steve like he always has. If Bucky could desire him before, could let Steve crawl on top of him during the nights in their tiny apartment and make love to him, how much better will it be now? Steve is finally the partner Bucky deserves. Strong, beautiful, good. Big, in every way. He can make love to Bucky how he’s always wanted to, holding him and pleasuring him, with no need to stop to catch his breath or regain his stamina.  
  
Maybe then, Steve thinks, this body will start to feel right. The way it should.

* * *

Steve’s body is good for something beyond the shows and propaganda films. His body is big, and strong, and fast. His body can leap out of airplanes sans parachute and land no worse for wear. His body can sneak into Hydra trucks and take out the occupants without setting off alarms. His body can save Allied soldiers being held prisoner in Hydra factories.  
  
His body can save Bucky.  
  
He finds Bucky strapped to a gurney, far from the area where the other soldiers were being kept. Bucky looks shockingly gaunt, and he’s repeating his rank and number, over and over, in a numbed voice that makes Steve want to chase down the man he saw fleeing the room and beat the hell out of him. He can’t leave, though. He can’t leave Bucky.  
  
When Bucky realizes that Steve is there, really there, he smiles. He says Steve’s name like it’s salvation, and Steve feels like _Captain America_ for the first time since they gave him the ridiculous moniker. Except, then Bucky’s eyes narrow in confusion as they sweep Steve’s body. Bucky’s not looking at him like he’s beautiful or good. Bucky’s looking at him with suspicion.  
  
“I thought you were smaller.”  
  
It’s almost an accusation.  
  
“I joined the Army.”  
  
Steve counters pathetically. As if he’s funny. Bucky doesn’t laugh.  
  
He unstraps Bucky and helps him stand. Bucky’s trembling like a leaf as Steve supports him. Steve wonders what they did to him, but he doesn’t ask. He’d never ask.  
  
Bucky disentangles himself from Steve as quickly as he can, staggering behind Steve and grilling him on what exactly happened to change him like this. Each question has the bite of fear, and anger. He won’t accept Steve’s help, or his touch.  
  
Steve’s body feels wrong again.

* * *

After they escape, Steve thinks everything might be okay. Bucky won’t let Steve touch him, but he’d stayed for Steve while the factory exploded around them. _“Not without you!”_ Bucky had yelled with stubborn devotion, forcing Steve to test the limits of his new body to save them both.  
  
Everything might be okay. Bucky’s seen things, been through things, that Steve can only imagine. Of course he’ll need some time to adjust to Steve’s new body. Steve can understand that, even if it hurts.  
  
Steve tries the night at the pub where Bucky tells him that he’ll follow Steve back into the fray. Bucky’s stumbling out of the pub into the dim London street, Steve steady behind him. Just them. Alone in the dark. Like old times.  
  
“Hey, man,” Steve comes up behind Bucky, puts a firm hand on his waist to guide him into the adjoining alley, and whispers in his ear. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”  
  
Bucky freezes. Steve can feel Bucky’s skin shiver underneath his jacket. He can feel the quickening of Bucky’s heart.  
  
“Let go of me,” Bucky’s speech is slurred, but he’s obviously terrified. “I don’t want- Let me go!”  
  
Steve does, hurt and confused, taking a step backward with his hands raised. Bucky whirls to face him, drunk and wary. There’s no need for Bucky to be afraid of Steve. Steve would never use his new body to take advantage of Bucky, just as he’d known Bucky would never have taken advantage of him when he was small and sick. A horrible, traitorous misgiving enters Steve’s mind. That Bucky doesn’t trust him. That Bucky only liked Steve when he was weak. He only liked Steve _because_ he was weak.  
  
The thought makes him angry. He pushes it aside, because it’s not true. He can’t believe it’s true.  
  
He _won’t_ believe it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Steve tells Bucky, placating. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Just thought I’d offer.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders slump. He moves aside to let Steve walk ahead of him back to the barracks. Every step Steve takes feels wrong. He’s a monstrosity. Too big, too cumbersome. Untouchable.  
  
Unlovable.

* * *

Weeks pass.  
  
They’ve been on the move, Steve, Bucky, and the rest of what the propaganda machine has started calling the Howling Commandos. Gabe, Dum Dum, Jim, Jacques, and Monty are good men, good soldiers, and good friends, and they all look at Steve with respect and admiration. For the first time in his life, Steve has friends other than Bucky. The Howlies at his side, Peggy and Howard back at base. He has friends. He likes that.  
  
He doesn’t dwell on the questions he sometimes has. If the Howlies would have liked him without this body. If Peggy and Howard would have continued to pretend they like him. He’s afraid of the answers.  
  
He doesn’t dwell on the bitter catch that having health, power, and friends seems to have cost him Bucky.  
  
Bucky follows Steve, like he’d promised. He’s loyal and brave. Steve couldn’t ask for a better right-hand man, but he would trade all of that for the man who’d left him in Brooklyn. That man with the twinkle in his stormy blue eyes and the unbridled mirth in his laughter. That man who’d loved Steve, touched him, and treated him like something precious when everyone else’s eyes had slid over him.  
  
Steve’s still not sure what happened to Bucky during the time they were separated. What took the light from his eyes and the joy from his smile. What gave him that grim determination he has in every task, equal in drinking his ration of coffee or picking off squid Nazis with his rifle from afar. He can’t help but think some of it has to do with him, with his new body, but he’s not sure.  
  
Steve’s not sure, he’ll never ask, and he knows Bucky will never tell him.

* * *

Late one night Bucky comes into Steve’s tent. Steve sits up, on alert, but he knows it’s Bucky. Even in the dark, he knows. This body’s senses are sharp, he can hear Bucky’s breathing, and smell Bucky’s scent underneath the grime that coats every Howlie’s skin. The tents they sleep in are small. Steve couldn’t have stood up inside it, even with his old body. There’s barely enough room for two men to lie side-by-side.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve breathes into the darkness as Bucky crawls under the tent flap and kneels between Steve’s legs, spread beneath a wool blanket. “What are you doing?”  
  
Steve tries to bring his arms around Bucky to draw him closer, everything he’s wanted, but Bucky’s heart pounds with fear, so loudly that Steve can hear it.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
Bucky growls the word softly, and Steve doesn’t know if he means _don’t speak,_ or _don’t touch,_ or both, but he lowers his arms and grunts his assent.  
  
“I missed you,” Bucky answers Steve’s question as if the three months between the asking haven’t passed. “God, I missed you.”  
  
He kisses Steve slowly, like he’s savoring Steve’s lips, and Steve resists the urge to lift his arms and let his hands explore Bucky like Bucky’s are tentatively exploring him. He’ll let Bucky tell him when, if, that’s okay. He just wants whatever Bucky is willing to give him.  
  
“Lie down, Stevie.”  
  
Steve obeys, and it’s a thrill to have Bucky sprawl on top of him. In his old body he’d always been on top, necessitated by his frailty. He’d always been on top, and he’d always been the one inside Bucky. He’s never had Bucky inside him, and he suddenly wants that. If Bucky will give it to him.  
  
Bucky presses himself against Steve’s body. He kisses Steve’s neck, and then his chest underneath his T-shirt. Steve is painfully hard, but he doesn’t reach down to adjust himself. He restrains himself from rutting against Bucky. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this.  
  
He can feel that Bucky is soft, and the familiar misgivings swell. Bucky’s soft, and his heart continues to hammer, and Steve can’t help but speculate as to what that means.  
  
“I want this,” Bucky growls against Steve’s chest. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. “I _want_ this.”  
  
Steve wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because Bucky said _don’t._  
  
Bucky reaches down between them. He palms Steve’s cock through too many layers. Blanket, pants, underwear, all as frustrating an enemy as Captain America has ever had to face. Steve can’t stop his hips from surging upward to meet Bucky’s hand, and he groans quietly.  
  
Bucky freezes. Everything except his heartbeat.  
  
“No,” Bucky sounds terrified. “No, fuck, I _want_ this.”  
  
Bucky sounds terrified, but he sounds irritated as well. Steve curses himself for ruining this.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve tries, because he’s already ruined it. “What is it?”  
  
Bucky rolls off of Steve, hitting the side of the tent. He scrambles to leave, panting with fear.  
  
“Bucky, please,” Steve sits up again, desperate to have Bucky stay. “What- what did I do? Just tell me what I did, I promise I won’t do it again.”  
  
“It’s not you, you idiot,” Bucky tells him with quiet fury as he leaves. “Can’t you see that?”  
  
Steve doesn’t believe him. He stares at the dark space where Bucky's disappeared. He’s ruined everything with this body, and he doesn’t even have the decency to regret it fully. He’s ruined everything.  
  
He’s ruined _them._

* * *

Another month gone. Captain America and the Howling Commandos take down another Hydra base. They celebrate around a fire that night. Steve laughs and jokes with the rest of them, reliving their triumphs. Bucky laughs a few times, too. Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Bucky smiles at something Gabe says to him. He tries not to be jealous.  
  
“Can I sit by you?”  
  
Steve asks Bucky after Gabe excuses himself to his tent. Monty’s on watch, but everyone else has gone to sleep. It’s just Steve, Bucky, and the dying fire.  
  
“No one’s stoppin’ you,” Bucky shrugs, trying too hard to sound indifferent. “I’m gonna turn in anyway. I’ve got third watch.”  
  
“Wait,” Steve attempts, desperate to have Bucky stay. “Just wait, please. Stay with me a little longer.”  
  
Bucky looks at him. The fire’s fading light illuminates the hollows of his cheeks. His cheeks used to be so full.  
  
“Okay,” Bucky agrees cautiously. “A little longer.”  
  
Steve thanks him and sits, giving Bucky a few inches between them. There’s a long silence as each man watches the fire go out. Steve thinks about Bucky’s face, beautiful even now. He wants to kiss him.  
  
“It’s not you,” Bucky says. “I know you think it’s your fault, but it’s not.”  
  
“Then what is it?”  
  
Bucky doesn’t answer him. The last ember dies.  
  
“I like this body,” Steve continues. “It was strange at first, it feels wrong sometimes, but I like it. I understand if you don’t, if this isn’t what you signed up for. You don’t have to- ”  
  
“Steve, shut up.”  
  
Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s in the dark. There’s always been safety in darkness for people like them. Bucky twitches when they make contact, but his fingers intertwine with Steve’s fingers, curling tightly.  
  
“You still draw?” Bucky asks quietly. “Haven’t seen you draw over here.”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve answers. It’s a thrill just to have Bucky holding his hand, like he’s sixteen again. “I still draw. I got a sketchbook in my tent, if you wanna see it.”  
  
He doesn’t mean it as a proposition, but he feels Bucky tense.  
  
“In the morning,” Steve tries to salvage. “Only if you want to.”  
  
Steve feels Bucky shift beside him, moving so their legs are touching. He never lets go of Steve’s hand. Steve stays as still as he can. He feels Bucky’s head come to rest on his shoulder. Safety in the darkness.  
  
“Now,” Bucky whispers, grimly determined as ever. “I wanna see it now.”  
  
Steve guides Bucky back to his tent, no need for light with Steve’s senses. Bucky’s hand grips him like a vise. He can hear Bucky’s heart pounding, an undercurrent to the soft noises in the forest around them. He doesn’t understand why Bucky is so afraid of him. It hurts.  
  
They maneuver themselves inside the tent, necessitating Bucky to drop Steve’s hand. When they’ve sat, Steve fishes for his sketchbook and flashlight. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping the pretext.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
Steve thinks he knows what Bucky means this time. _Don’t turn on the light._  
  
_Don’t break the barrier._  
  
“I wanna make you feel good,” Bucky whispers, gravel in his voice. “Get up on your knees.”  
  
Steve does, thinking about Bucky’s face. His soft lips, warm mouth, wet tongue. Blood surges south. Steve stifles a longing moan.  
  
“I want this,” Bucky says as he unbuttons Steve’s fly. “I want it.”  
  
Steve wants it, too.  
  
Bucky guides Steve’s cock out into the cool air. He wraps his hand around it and pumps leisurely. He breathes deeply, and Steve has just enough blood left in his brain to register that Bucky’s heart is slowing. He keeps his hands at his sides, wanting this, not wanting to ruin it again.  
  
“Damn, Steve,” Bucky’s voice has the shadow of his old humor. “They made _everything_ bigger, huh?”  
  
Steve wants to laugh, but they have to keep quiet. He wants to think up a witty retort, but his faculties are engaged elsewhere.  
  
Those faculties are completely obliterated when Bucky’s lips find the head of his cock and his mouth sucks Steve down with practiced ease. It’s been too long, Steve thinks as he stifles another moan. Too fucking long, and, God, he loves this man and his wicked tongue. He _needs_ him, and anything he’s willing to give him. In the darkness they could be anywhere. They could be back in that tiny apartment. Bucky could have the gleam in his eyes and Steve could be small again. He could be what Bucky wants again.  
  
Steve’s arms rise from his sides. His hands find the back of Bucky’s head, like they would have in their apartment.  
  
Bucky jerks away violently, heartbeat roaring. His back hits the side of the tent, hard. Steve hates himself for ruining it again.  
  
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds like he’s going to spit. “I thought I could do this. Fuck!”  
  
Steve stuffs himself back into his pants. He tries not to be angry and ashamed at the disgust in Bucky’s voice. He can feel Bucky shaking before he moves himself as far from Steve as he can in the tent’s confines.  
  
“Sorry,” Steve apologizes reflexively.  
  
“No,” Bucky’s angry. “No, don’t.”  
  
Steve doesn’t understand.  
  
“No,” Bucky repeats, still angry. “I can do this, c’mon. Let’s try again.”  
  
Steve chuckles incredulously.  
  
“Don’t think I’m gonna rise to the occasion again, Buck.”  
  
There’s unintended bitterness in his voice, and he hates it. Bucky’s shoulders slump.  
  
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds weary. _“Fuck.”_  
  
He crawls out of Steve’s tent. Steve lies on his back, struggling with his need, and his inability to do anything about it. Struggling with his anger. Bucky says he still wants Steve, but he’s afraid of him. Disgusted by him.  
  
If Steve were braver, as brave as everyone seems to think he is, he’d ask Bucky what his game is. He’d ask, but he knows from years of experience that the quickest way to get Bucky to shut down is to try and make him talk. God, but he loves that stupid, stubborn man.  
  
He loves him too much to let him go.

* * *

Two months later Cap and the Howlies liberate a small Austrian village from Hydra control. The villagers are grateful. They put the Howlies up at the inn, complimentary, like the beer downstairs in the inn’s pub. From the way some of the local women are eyeing them, Steve’s certain that at least one Howlie will be seeing a different kind of action tonight.  
  
“To Captain Rogers!”  
  
They always toast him whenever they have the chance. This time it’s Jacques who starts it, cap askew. Steve dips his head modestly, a tiny smile on his lips. He’s embarrassed by the attention, but he’s also come to enjoy it.  
  
“To you,” Steve counters, raising his tankard. “To all of you!”  
  
There’s the roar of cheering and glasses clinking. Steve sips his beer politely. He doesn’t drink very much. He never had with his old body, and in this new body he doesn’t feel the effects like the others do. Another way he’s different, but this one he doesn’t mind. He has no reason to get drunk. His mind is clear as he kindly rejects several women’s advances.  
  
The pub is full of light, and Steve watches Bucky sitting by himself across the room. Bucky sits by himself a lot these days. Steve watches as women sit beside him. Laughing, flirting, trying. Bucky plays the part admirably, as he always has, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. The women leave, disappointed.  
  
Others have better luck. As the night progresses, Jim, Dum Dum, and Gabe each disappear with a comely partner. Monty heads upstairs to his room, alone. He has a wife waiting for him in England, and Steve’s never seen him be unfaithful. Bucky follows soon after, stiffly bidding Steve and Jacques goodnight. The celebration has died.  
  
“I see the way you look at him.”  
  
Jacques’ accent is thick, but he and the Howlies, with a lot of help from Gabe, have learned to communicate across the language barrier. Jacques’ English has become clearer, and Steve’s picked up some basic French.  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
Steve looks sharply at Jacques. His heart races. He’s given himself away. His insecurities about whether the Howlies would have liked him without his new body have mostly died, but he knows what they’ll think of him if they know this. Worse, if they find out about Bucky. Another thing Steve will have ruined for him.  
  
“The way you look at Sergeant Barnes,” Jacques elaborates. “I understand.”  
  
Come to think of it, Steve’s never seen Jacques looking at a woman. He’s never seen Jacques accept a proposition, or heard him talk about a woman waiting for him back home.  
  
“You understand?” Steve asks carefully.  
  
“Some men have women,” Jacques’ voice is soft. “And some, like us, have men.”  
  
_Like us._  
  
“You should be more careful,” Steve warns. “Who you say that to.”  
  
“James told me things, in the factory,” Jacques ignores Steve’s admonition. “When they would bring him back after they were done with him. He told me things about you. You helped him hold on as long as he did.”  
  
A knot twists in the bottom of Steve’s stomach, like in his old body when he’d eaten something too sweet.  
  
“What do you mean, after they were done with him?”  
  
“Some of the guards took an interest in him,” Jacques’ voice is distant, his words rambling with drunken purpose. “I am not sure if any of the other prisoners figured it out, but I could see what was happening. I tried to help, but I could not stop it.”  
  
The knot in Steve’s stomach has become a rock. They shouldn’t be talking about this, he thinks. It’s not fair to Bucky, who's been guarding himself so carefully from Steve. He’ll never forgive Steve, if he knows that Steve knows.  
  
“He got very sick and stopped eating,” Jacques continues hazily. “He could no longer work, so they took him away to isolation. No one ever came back from isolation. I thought I would never see him again.”  
  
“That’s enough.”  
  
Steve stands. He’s horrified by the revelation, and he’s angry. He’s angry at himself for not understanding.  
  
“You didn’t know,” Jacques finally catches up. “Bordel de merde, I thought he would have told you.”  
  
“No. He didn’t,” Steve rubs a hand over his face. “Don’t tell anyone else.”  
  
“Of course not,” Jacques sounds as horrified as Steve feels. “Jésus.”  
  
Steve goes upstairs to his room. He’s in shock. He hadn’t known, how could he have known? How could he, if Bucky won’t talk to him?  
  
But how could he not have _seen?_

The room is dark when Steve opens the door, but he senses Bucky sitting there, on his bed. Steve closes the door behind him and locks it. His heart is beating hard enough to rival Bucky’s. He wants to grab Bucky, shake him, demand to know why he didn’t tell him. He wants to cling to Bucky, hold him, never let him go.  
  
He can’t do either.  
  
“I wanna try again,” Bucky says steadily. “Let’s try again.”  
  
Steve turns on the lamp. Bucky is naked, his clothes in a heap on the floor. His skin smells of the soap the villagers gave them all to wash with before the festivities. Bucky twitches with the sudden rush of light.  
  
“No,” Steve decides, although his cock swells with anticipation. “Not your way. It’s my turn.”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
Bucky stands, hiding his unease with bravado. Steve hasn’t seen Bucky naked in over a year. He wants to touch him.  
  
“You first, Buck. I wanna make _you_ feel good.”  
  
Steve drops to his knees, looking up at Bucky. Letting him choose whether or not to cross the space between them. He feels guilty, that he knows. He wants to make it up to Bucky.  
  
Bucky stares down at him, his face unreadable. Steve studies his body in the light. Bucky’s as broad as he ever was, but Steve can see Bucky’s ribs underneath his skin. He can see the scars that weren’t there before. Scars on the inside of his thighs, and higher. Scars where a knife might be pressed to motivate a man to cooperate with something he otherwise wouldn’t.  
  
Steve shudders and looks back up to Bucky’s face. Bucky glares defiantly, daring Steve to ask. Steve never would. Now he doesn’t have to.  
  
He looks away from Bucky’s ire, down again. Bucky is soft. His balls hang low from the underside of his dangling cock, framed in a snarl of dark hair. Steve wants to bury his face there. He wants to feel Bucky’s cock harden in his mouth and hear Bucky moan with pleasure above him. He wants to make Bucky remember. Remember Steve, and remember himself. Remember _them._  
  
Bucky takes a step toward Steve.  
  
“Me, then you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve agrees easily. “You, then me.”  
  
Bucky takes another step forward. Steve clasps his hands behind his back. He’s not going to ruin it this time.  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
Bucky goes to turn off the light. Steve doesn’t move, but his heart races with excitement. He’s never successfully brought Bucky to completion with his mouth. It was too hard to breathe, with his old body. Now he can, with this new body that’s been good for everything except what he wants most.  
  
Bucky’s cock remains soft when he returns to stand in front of Steve in the darkness. It’s soft when Steve begins to lick and suck all around it, teasing like Bucky used to tease him. He kisses the insides of Bucky’s thighs. He kisses up the scars, as high as they go, to Bucky’s perineum and the underside of his scrotum. Bucky’s skin shivers, his heart pounds, but he doesn’t tell Steve to stop. Steve so badly wants to touch him with more than his mouth, but his hands stay behind his back.  
  
Slowly, he feels Bucky’s balls start to draw up, sac tightening as his cock fills and his breathing quickens. Steve decides to stop the tease.  
  
“Never done this before,” he reminds Bucky. “Tell me if I should be doing something else, or whatever you need, okay?”  
  
“You want me to tell you what to do, Captain?”  
  
There’s more than a shadow of his old humor. Steve clings to it, as he’s unable to cling to Bucky.  
  
“That’s an order, Sergeant.”  
  
“Yes, _sir.”_  
  
Steve can hear the smirk on Bucky’s face, and he clings to it. He clings to it as his lips encircle Bucky’s cock and he hears Bucky’s sharp intake of breath. He focuses his senses, and it’s exhilarating to hear Bucky’s heartbeat. To feel the blood rushing down through his veins. Bucky’s flesh thickens in Steve’s mouth and Steve experiments with his tongue, trying to mimic what he remembers Bucky doing with him. Bucky moans, low at first, rising higher. His hips thrust.  
  
“Oh, God, yes,” Bucky gasps quietly. “Right there, Stevie. Right there, _fuck,_ don’t stop.”  
  
Steve doesn’t. He bobs his head on Bucky’s shaft, sucking and licking. He revels in the noises Bucky makes over his head. Breathy moans and ragged, panting whimpers of pleasure interspersed with his quiet instructions that Steve is happy to follow. Steve’s cock is very interested in what he’s hearing.  
  
“Faster,” Bucky’s hands press insistently against the back of Steve’s head. “Please, faster.”  
  
Steve goes faster. Bucky strangles a roar as he reaches his climax, thrusting into Steve’s mouth, clutching at Steve’s head. His essence is salty and bitter on Steve’s tongue. Steve swallows it all down. He can’t get enough. Bucky groans deeply with satisfaction. Steve can’t get enough of that, either. He's proud of himself.  
  
“God,” Bucky says as he pulls himself out of Steve’s mouth. _“Fuck,_ Steve.”  
  
He’s panting from his exertion, but he sounds relieved. Content. It fills Steve with joy.  
  
“Hey,” Bucky staggers back and sits heavily on the bed. “Come here.”  
  
Steve stands and sheds his uniform. The Captain America costume joins Bucky’s blue jacket on the floor.  
  
“Your turn,” Bucky says when Steve sits beside him on the bed. “I wanna make _you_ feel good.”  
  
Like old times. Except, it can never be like old times again.  
  
“But, if we can’t,” Steve says, strong and steady in Bucky’s ear, because he understands now. “It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it’s not,” Bucky says with desperate anger. “It’s not okay.”  
  
“Yes,” Steve assures him. “It is.”  
  
Bucky’s heart is pounding. His skin shivers. Steve resists the urge to embrace him. He hates what Hydra’s done to Bucky, and he hates that their intimacy will forever be tainted by it.  
  
“It’s not you,” Bucky lets out a shaky breath. “God, I know you think it’s you, but it’s not. It’s me.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Steve tells him, believing Bucky for the first time. “Whatever it is, we can get through it.”  
  
“You’re gorgeous, and I love you,” Bucky says earnestly, a rush of words held back too long. The words Steve’s wanted to hear and believe. “I love you, no matter what. I love that you’re healthy and strong. I missed you, Steve.”  
  
Bucky kisses him. Steve lets him take the lead, hands at his sides. He wants anything Bucky is willing to give him.  
  
“I love you, too,” Steve pulls his mouth away to tell him. He can’t remember the last time he told Bucky that. “I love you so much, Buck.”  
  
He feels Bucky shiver. Not with fear. With anticipation. Like old times. Bucky moves, sprawling face-down on the bed. Steve moves, hovering over him. He wants this, if Bucky wants this.  
  
“You should put on a condom,” Bucky mumbles into the pillow. “For safety.”  
  
They’d never used condoms, back in their apartment.  
  
“I’ll take my chances,” Steve tells him. “I’m a superhuman, after all.”  
  
He hears Bucky chuckle into the pillow.  
  
“I’d feel better if you did. Just in case.”  
  
Steve’s heart clenches. Not just because of the implications, but because Steve knows how he would have misinterpreted Bucky’s concerns, before. He reminds himself that it doesn’t matter now. He’s going to make it up to Bucky.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Steve has condoms, and Vaseline. He rolls a condom on, greasing himself up. His slick fingers prod Bucky’s ass. He hears Bucky’s heart racing.  
  
“We could do it the other way,” Steve offers. “You on top.”  
  
“No,” Bucky growls into the pillow. “I want _this.”_  
  
Steve wants it, too, no matter how much guilt he feels over that. His right forefinger breaches Bucky. Bucky gasps.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yes,” Bucky insists. “Keep going.”  
  
Steve adds a second finger. Bucky moans.  
  
“Yes,” Bucky says in a different voice. _“Yes.”_  
  
A third finger. Steve starts to hope.  
  
“Please,” Bucky murmurs. “Please, Steve.”  
  
Steve adds a fourth finger. Bucky moans again, humping himself against the bed, ready to go again. He feels ready, and Steve’s been ready for a long time. Too long.  
  
“I want you, Buck,” Steve says breathily. “Tell me you want me, too.”  
  
“I do,” Bucky says. “God, I do.”  
  
Steve pulls his fingers out. He positions himself over Bucky. He starts to push himself inside.  
  
Bucky’s heart jumps. He stifles a yell into the pillow, pulling himself away from Steve. Steve offers no resistance as Bucky rolls aside and curls in on himself, shielding himself as he shakes with fear. It hurts, but Steve knows why. He understands.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bucky growls. “I want you. I _want_ you, why can’t I do this?”  
  
“It’s okay,” Steve props himself up on one arm. “It’s okay.”  
  
He knows. He understands. He’ll never tell Bucky.  
  
“No, it’s not,” Bucky repeats, angry. With himself, Steve understands. Not with Steve. “It’s _not.”_  
  
Steve says nothing more to assuage him. He’s told Bucky what he can. He doesn’t want to make Bucky shut down. Not after he’d managed to give Bucky a small respite of pleasure.  
  
“Stay the night with me?”  
  
He asks instead. Hoping. Even if nothing more happens, he wants Bucky in his bed. In his arms.  
  
“No,” Bucky starts to get off the bed. “I gotta get back to my room.”  
  
He’s right, Steve knows. It would be reckless, even with the locked door. No matter how much he wants it. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he listens to Bucky fumble for his clothes. He pulls the rubber off his softening cock. He knows Bucky thinks he doesn’t understand. He can never tell Bucky that he understands. That hurts in a different way.  
  
“I love you,” Steve says softly when he hears the click of the lock. “No matter what.”  
  
He can never tell Bucky, but he wants Bucky to understand he’s not angry. Not like before.  
  
Bucky doesn’t respond. The door closes behind him, leaving Steve alone in the darkness.

* * *

In the weeks that follow, Steve struggles with the burden of knowing what Bucky doesn’t want him to know. He’s plagued with guilt, but at the same time it’s a relief to understand. To understand that it wasn’t him, it was never him, that dimmed Bucky’s light. To understand that Bucky loves him, trusts him, wants him however he is. To understand, although it breaks his heart, how hard Bucky is trying.  
  
That understanding has an effect on Bucky. Steve can see it. The careful wall Bucky had constructed between them is coming down. Bucky stands closer to Steve. He begins to laugh louder and smile wider. He claps Steve on the back a few times. The hope that everything might be okay burns brighter in Steve’s chest.  
  
The tide of the War is changing. More and more victories for the Allies. More and more Hydra bases reduced to flaming rubble by Steve and his friends. He can almost _taste_ the Red Skull’s anger and desperation, and it drives him as much as the rekindling spark he sometimes glimpses in Bucky’s eyes. Everything might be okay, because he’s got the body he’s always wanted and it’s big, strong, and fast. _He’s_ big, strong, and fast. He’s beautiful, and good, and Bucky loves him.  
  
Once the War’s over, Steve hopes, Bucky will have the time he needs to reclaim himself fully. They can never be the same, but they can still be together. They can still _be._

* * *

In June, the Allies launch Operation Overlord. Cap and his Howlies aren’t at Normandy, they’re fighting Hydra on the opposite side of France, but the news spurs them on.  
  
That same month, Bucky sneaks into Steve’s tent to try again. Their first try since the inn. Steve wants to get Bucky first, but Bucky insists that it’s Steve’s turn. Steve gets three fingers inside Bucky before he panics, but Bucky lets Steve hold him in silence for a long time afterward.  
  
At the beginning of July the Allies are gaining ground in France. The Howlies surprise Steve with a small cake, after much teasing about the date of Captain America’s birth. Bucky laughs so hard his eyes stream. The cake is hard, gritty, and there’s not enough sugar. Steve savors every bite, blinking back tears of gratitude.  
  
Five days after that, Bucky manages to bring Steve to completion with his hand. His heart hammers, and he’s shaking, but Steve can tell how proud he is of himself. Steve’s proud, too, and grateful. It’s the first time he’s come with Bucky in this new body. It’s so much better than with his own hand. Still, he wants more. As guilty as he feels about that.  
  
In early August, Captain America and the Howling Commandos are there at the end of the Battle for Caen. Allied casualties are enormous, but every Howlie makes it out. At one point a German soldier surprises them and almost blows a hole through Bucky’s chest. Steve throws his shield so hard it decapitates the man.  
  
The SSR summons them back to London after that. A few days, a little R&R, while Steve reports to Phillips, Peggy, and Howard. Peggy and Howard take Steve out to dinner the first night, and he enjoys catching up with his friends. Later that night, he enjoys blowing Bucky in a dark alley in a seedy part of the city, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Bucky tries to return the favor, but freezes halfway through. Steve tells him it’s okay. Bucky’s angry, but he lets Steve walk back with him, side-by-side.  
  
They ship out for France with a new objective. Arnim Zola is the weak link in Schmidt’s chain. If they can find Zola, take him into custody, the brass is convinced it will signal the fall of Hydra.  
  
“He’s the one who took me to isolation, at the factory.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t like to be pressed, but he’ll sometimes talk of his own volition. Steve makes a noise of acknowledgment, trying to control his rage at this man who’d hurt Bucky.  
  
“He used needles, and lights, and he kept trying to get me to say things. Things I never would.”  
  
They’re in Bucky’s tent. Another try, another failure, but Bucky lets Steve hold him in the darkness.  
  
“I wouldn’t, no matter what he did.”  
  
Bucky’s voice takes on a desperate note. It’s something Steve’s been noticing lately. How desperate Bucky is to be the strong, capable man Steve knew and needed in Brooklyn. Steve doesn’t know how to tell Bucky that he’ll always need him.  
  
“I wouldn’t, so he brought the guards back to- ”  
  
Bucky stops talking abruptly. Steve’s rage flares.  
  
“To beat you?” Steve asks, trying to help.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky lies. “To beat me. I still wouldn’t, though.”  
  
“That’s my guy,” Steve says fondly, and he feels Bucky swell with pride. “That’s my guy.”  
  
Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm gently. He knows better than to make any sudden moves, but by now he’s figured out what’s okay for Bucky and what’s not.  
  
“Can’t wait to catch up with him,” Bucky says with fierce bravado. “I’ll make him wish he never put his mitts on me.”  
  
“Easy, Buck,” Steve coaxes, though he shares the sentiment tenfold. “We need him in one piece.”  
  
Bucky relaxes against Steve, satisfied with his posturing. Steve wonders if Zola hurt Bucky in other ways. Ways that Bucky will never say. He thinks it’s a good idea to have at least one of the other Howlies there when they bring Zola in. He doesn’t trust himself not to put his fist through Zola’s head.  
  
He squeezes Bucky’s arm again. He really wants to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, but he doesn’t. He’s already learned that Bucky doesn’t like that.  
  
There will be time, after, Steve reminds himself. They have time.

* * *

Zola proves himself a slippery little weasel. The SSR’s intel proves faultier than they’d like to admit. By October, Zola’s escaped the Howlies twice. There’s no scent of him for weeks.  
  
The Howlies are on edge. Jim inventories, then re-inventories the medical supplies. Jacques does the same with his demolition equipment. Bucky’s rifle has never been cleaner.  
  
They try something new that night. Steve lies on his back in his tent while Bucky goes down on him. Steve stays as quiet as he can, which is difficult, and as still as he can, which is even more difficult. He can feel Bucky’s arousal hard and hot against him. He loves it.  
  
Bucky doesn’t panic until Steve reaches climax. Steve's too far gone to be of much help as Bucky pulls away wildly with a soft cry, shaking and spitting. There’s a mess all over Steve and his belongings. When he regains his faculties, Steve assures Bucky that he doesn’t mind, but Bucky doesn’t stay long after that.  
  
It’s nearly Christmas before they try again. Unable to help with the fighting in Bastogne, the Howlies are reinvigorated with a new lead on Zola. They pack up and head for the center of Austria. During one of the long, cold nights of the trek, Bucky comes to Steve’s tent.  
  
“I want this,” Bucky repeats his familiar refrain. “I want _you.”_  
  
Steve believes him.  
  
“Can we try- ” Steve hesitates, trying to figure out how to ask. “I had an idea, for how this could work.”  
  
Bucky’s heart leaps, but he tells Steve to continue.  
  
“Me on my back, and you lower yourself down on me. That way you’re completely in control.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve’s afraid he’s ruined it. That he’s pushed too far. He waits, hoping, for Bucky to respond. It was always Steve who started things, in his old body. In their old life. Now, he waits for Bucky.  
  
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Bucky asks eventually, sounding exasperated. “C’mon, let’s try it your way.”  
  
Steve is relieved, and happy to oblige.  
  
It’s too cold for them to take off more clothes than necessary. Bucky pulls his pants down to his thighs and sits on Steve’s face while Steve works him open with his tongue. Bucky makes soft noises of pleasure above him that drive Steve wild. Sometimes he worries about what’s going through Bucky’s mind when he touches him. What horrible memories Steve evokes that make Bucky freeze, panic, pull away. Not now. He won’t ever worry that those factory squids tried this. This is for Bucky. For Steve, too, but only so much as Bucky wants it.  
  
“C’mon, please,” Bucky moans breathlessly. Steve hears him stroking himself. “Please, Stevie, let’s go.”  
  
Steve retracts his tongue and Bucky lifts himself off Steve’s face. He sits on Steve’s chest while he unbuttons Steve’s fly and brings his straining cock into play. Steve stays on his back, as still as possible. He hands Bucky a condom without needing to be asked. Bucky’s particular about that, now. It’s beyond the fear of disease, since Bucky has no problem with Steve’s bare fingers or tongue. It’s something Steve doesn’t fully understand, but he doesn’t have to. It’s for Bucky.  
  
Bucky rolls the condom onto Steve. He lifts himself up on his knees over Steve, and Steve hears the wet sound of Bucky’s fingers prepping himself with Vaseline. Steve’s cock throbs unbearably.  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
Bucky’s warning is unnecessary. Steve’s learned by now.  
  
“You’re in control, Buck.”  
  
Bucky swings himself around so he’s facing Steve in the dark. Steve gasps when he feels Bucky’s hands on him, guiding him home. He gasps again when he feels tight warmth through the rubber sheathing him. Bucky lowers himself down on Steve, bringing Steve inside with one languid slide. It takes all of Steve’s restraint not to thrust. Not to put his hands on Bucky, though he so desperately wants to. He can hear Bucky’s heart hammering.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“You’ll know if I’m not.”  
  
Bucky’s tone is sharp with agitation, and Steve tries not to let that hurt. Bucky doesn’t move for a few minutes after positioning himself. Steve wants more, but he tries to quell that part of himself. If this is all Bucky will give him, so be it. This is more than he’d hoped for. It’s more than enough.  
  
“You feel so good, Buck,” Steve attempts, balling his hands into fists so he doesn’t touch. “You’re so- ”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
Steve doesn’t. He closes his mouth and waits for Bucky.  
  
“Fuck,” Bucky growls with longing, mercifully starting to move. “God, I want you so bad, Steve.”  
  
“You have me,” Steve says before he can stop himself. Bucky keeps riding Steve, so Steve figures it must be okay. “You’ll always have me.”  
  
“You’re so beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky moves faster, up and down, knees flexing. “You’ve always been beautiful, and now you’re like a fucking _god.”_  
  
Steve restrains himself from matching Bucky’s movements. He focuses on Bucky’s words. Everything he wants to hear. Everything he finally believes.  
  
“I want this,” Bucky groans, pounding himself on Steve’s cock, one hand behind him on Steve’s thigh for balance, the other pumping his own cock. “This feels so fucking good, I want this so fucking bad!”  
  
Steve doesn’t last long after that. He moans, long and high, and his hips stutter against his will, but he doesn’t put his hands on Bucky. Bucky rides him through, and if he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it. A few seconds after Steve begins to come down, he hears Bucky swear in rapture and feels his hot essence coating his face in bursts. Steve laughs, relieved. Proud. Content.  
  
Until he hears Bucky fail to suppress a sob.  
  
“Buck?” Steve asks helplessly, horrified. He props himself up on his elbows. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”  
  
Bucky pulls himself off of Steve’s softening cock. He falls heavily to the side, hitting the vibranium shield. Steve winces in solidarity as he sits up.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, voice muffled. “Everything’s fine.”  
  
Steve longs to hold him. To wrap his arms around Bucky from behind and bury his face in the sweat of Bucky’s neck. He’s still covered in the proof of Bucky’s pleasure, drying pungent and sticky on his face and in his hair. He doesn’t want to wipe it away. Not yet.  
  
“We did it,” Steve begins with tentative joy. _“You_ did it.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve waits for him, listening to his heartbeat slow. Eventually, Bucky pulls his pants up and starts to leave.  
  
“Wait. Please.”  
  
“I can’t,” Bucky sounds tired and angry. “I love you, but I can’t.”  
  
When he’s gone, Steve cleans himself up. He falls asleep clinging to the smell of Bucky lingering in his tent. He dreams of a warm summer night in a rundown apartment. He dreams of his small hands on Bucky’s face while he makes love to him.  
  
There are no tears.

* * *

Christmas passes. The Howlies don’t make a big fuss about it. They’re narrowing in on Zola’s location. The SSR tells them Zola will be traveling to Switzerland soon, and the best time to intercept him will be while he’s in transit. They make camp near the base of Piz Buin in the Austrian Alps. They stay there for several days.  
  
Bucky stands closer to Steve. He knocks shoulders with him in a show of good-humored posturing for the other men. Steve waits in vain for Bucky to come to his tent, or to invite Steve into his. He reminds himself how hard Bucky is trying. How, soon, they’ll have all the time in the world to try together.  
  
They get the message on December 31st. Zola’s train will pass through the following morning. Steve and the Howlies talk strategy all day. According to Monty’s calculations, double-checked by Jim and Bucky, only three of them can zipline onto the train in time. Even then, it’ll be risky. Steve will lead, of course, but there’s a discussion about who will accompany him. It comes down to Bucky, Gabe, and Dum Dum. Then Gabe and Dum Dum. Gabe narrowly beats Dum Dum in an arm-wrestling contest and wins the third spot.  
  
They celebrate the New Year that night. Jacques passes around his carefully guarded flask. Bucky hums “Auld Lang Syne” in Steve’s ear until Steve tells him to quit it. Dum Dum starts talking to Gabe again, and by midnight they’ve got their arms over each other’s shoulders, singing along with Bucky by the fire.  
  
“There’s no way any of you are drunk enough for this,” Steve teases.  
  
“Like you would know, Cap,” Bucky shoots back.  
  
Monty and Jim join the song. Steve’s pretty sure they’ve forgotten some of the verses.  
  
_“We two have run about the hills and pulled the daisies fine- ”_  
  
Jacques offers his flask to Steve. Steve waves it away. There’s not much, no need to waste it on him. Jacques takes another swig and joins the song, looking expectantly at Steve.  
  
_“But seas between us broad have roared since long, long ago- ”_  
  
Steve joins the chorus with a smile. He watches his friends enjoy themselves. He watches Bucky beside him, his face illuminated in firelight. He’s grinning. It’s beautiful.  
  
_“For auld lang syne!”_  
  
Bucky comes to Steve’s tent later. He lets Steve hold him for a little while. Not nearly long enough, but they have to sleep. They have to be sharp for the mission ahead. Bucky kisses Steve goodbye and lets Steve squeeze his hand. It’s enough for now. It’s enough, because it has to be.

* * *

His body is big, and strong, and fast. It’s everything he’d ever wanted. The constant pain he’d felt from childhood is gone, and he never wanted to feel it again.  
  
Except there’s a new pain now, and this pain is worse. So much worse. Steve wants to howl from it.  
  
He wants his old pain back. He bargains with any deity that will listen. His old pain for this new one. His old body for this new one. Anything, everything, for the feeling of Bucky’s hand clutched securely in Steve’s and pulled into the safety of his arms.  
  
There was only air in his hand. Cold, howling air that couldn’t deafen Bucky’s scream as he fell. Steve hates that every memory he has of Bucky will now be overshadowed by the echo of that scream.  
  
This body is big, strong, and fast, but it’s wrong. It’s a lie. It’s not good enough. It wasn’t good enough to save Bucky. It wasn’t good enough to find what was left of him in the snowy river valley. It can’t even get drunk to numb him from this new pain.  
  
Once they’d got Zola, the SSR extracted them by air to London. Phillips is interrogating the doctor. Hydra’s days are numbered. Steve sits in the bombed-out shell of the pub where Bucky foolishly promised to follow him. Back when Steve didn’t know or understand.  
  
Goddammit, why can’t he get drunk?  
  
Peggy saves him. His other friends don’t know what to do or say, but she does. She reminds him of his duty. He has an obligation. He has a purpose.  
  
He can avenge.  
  
Once, Steve didn’t want to kill anybody. Squids, Nazis, or any combination of the two. That’s changed. Hydra dimmed Bucky’s light. Then it took him away from Steve. It wants to do the same to the rest of the world. Steve’s going to burn it down and salt the ashes. All he’ll leave of Schmidt will be a red smear.  
  
He doesn’t think about _after._ As far as he was concerned, after was Bucky. After was all the time in the world to be together. There is no after for him anymore.  
  
He knows better than to think life could ever be fair, but the injustice of it all sucks the breath from his lungs like he’s back in his old body. Bucky had been trying so hard. He’d come so far. He’d loved Steve so much.  
  
He’d screamed with so much fear as he fell to his death.  
  
For that, Steve’s going to kill them all. He doesn't care if that's wrong.

* * *

When it’s over, Peggy tries to save him again. She tries, but Steve’s beyond saving.  
  
She cries for him over the radio. He’s touched, and he regrets causing her pain. She doesn’t deserve this, any more than Bucky deserved anything that was inflicted on him. At least they can’t hurt him any further.  
  
Steve’s not sure if there’s an afterlife. He thinks probably not, but if there is, he’ll be there soon. Bucky will slap him on the back of the head, call him an idiot, and then Steve will hold him and never let him go.  
  
There’s light on the horizon, gleaming off the water and ice where Steve is guiding the plane to crash. It’s a different kind of light than the one that consumed Schmidt while Steve shielded his eyes. It’s a beautiful light sparkling in the blue. It looks familiar. It looks like home. It looks like all the time in the world.  
  
There’s a faint smile on Steve’s lips as he closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.

**Author's Note:**

> This may be the first time one of my own stories has reduced me to tears.
> 
> I played with the MCU timeline a little, but I mapped out events from WWII and tried to fit them together. Since I've seen Bucky's date of "death" cited as both 1944 and 1945, I split the difference and chose January 1, 1945.
> 
> I have so many WIPs I should be working on, but I'm already thinking about what a sequel to this would look like. The two Avengers and the second and third Captain America movies from this Steve's POV. No promises, but so much delicious potential for pain.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
